Poe's Purloined Letter
by SCS12
Summary: You can talk a lot, can talk and talk and talk, and still not reveal anything. And if you talk, people think they know everything about you. They never think to probe further or dig deeper. As far as they're concerned, you're an open book. Which is not the case. It's the perfect cover. A way to hide in plain sight. Your personal equivalent to the purloined letter.


When Stiles tells Scott that he maybe, sort of, kind of has the hugest freaking crush on Derek Hale, Scott just can't believe it.

"But, I mean—it's Derek, man. He's broody and kind of stalkerish. He doesn't talk a lot and he growls—_GROWLS_—at you. And me. And everyone else! What could you possibly have in common?"

And Stiles thinks that him and Derek have both lost family. And they both hide a lot of themselves. Scott knows him better than anyone else in the world, but Scott doesn't know everything about him. It was something he perfected after his mom died. The more you talk and talk and talk the more people think they know about you and the less you have to reveal. And boy does Stiles talk. Non-stop. Constantly. Half the time he doesn't pay attention once he's started rambling, just letting his mouth go on and on and not saying anything important. So it would be kind of nice to be able to share some of those things he doesn't talk about with someone else.

But Stiles doesn't say any of that. He just starts rambling on about Derek's eyes and his abs and is jaw line (which, okay, to be honest, are all great) until Scott rolls his eyes and changes the subject, just like Stiles knew he would. It wasn't that Scott had a problem with his bisexuality; Scott just didn't like talking about the relative attractiveness of any male, especially one he was kind of friends with.

A few nights later, Derek crawls in through the window. Stiles could really set his watch by Derek's precisely timed appearance in his window on nights he comes by. Although, it only happens on nights his father works overnight, so at least Stiles could be thankful Derek spares him any embarrassing conversations about men crawling in the window at 2 am.

"Are you okay?"

Stiles looks up from his spot on the bed, chemistry book propped on his knees, with a look that borders surprise. "Yea. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, normally you have a movie going, a game on your phone up and possibly 3 or 4 highlighters in your mouth when you're studying. Instead it looks like you've been reading the same sentence over and over again."

For a moment, Stiles is shocked at how astute that observation was. He knows, on some level, that Derek takes everything in at all times. He isn't just brooding and glaring at people, but actually taking notice of all the minute details of their lives, their habits, their personalities. Mostly though, people just notice Stiles flailing around talking a mile a minute. He wasn't really expecting Derek to be different.

"Well, you know, had a rough day. Lots of homework. Lots of stress. Coach had us doing a god-awful amount of suicides during practice."

Derek just kind of grunts at him and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

It's close to the anniversary of his mom's death and while it's not here yet, sometimes that's worse. Every year Scott makes sure to keep him busy all day long, never pausing to catch a breath. His dad always makes sure they have a nice family dinner and on the rare occasion he can't get off work, Mrs. McCall fills in to make sure Stiles doesn't have to think about it.

But those days leading up to it—nobody thinks about those. The days that aren't the anniversary, but are so close that Stiles is already thinking about it. And berating himself. And feeling guilty and sad and sometimes angry and all those other things that you do when you remember losing someone you love. But worse, because he starts dreading how bad he's going to feel on the actual day. And then he starts getting mad at himself, saying that he can't go around being sad all the time. People need him. His dad needs him. Scott definitely needs him—he'd never stay alive without him. And Derek and the rest of the wolves needs him. Derek is always coming over with a new subject or topic for research to keep them safe—to keep them alive.

Which startles him out of his inner thoughts, because Derek has yet to ask him about any particular topic. Instead, Derek is staring at him, his head slightly cocked, and while his mouth his still scowling, his eyes seem a bit softer.

"So what is it this time? Witches? Vampires? Unicorns? Please tell me it's unicorns. I would totally want to see one of those!"

And off Stiles goes, rambling about unicorns (unicorns?!) and their horns and he thinks maybe he says something about Harry Potter, because he hears himself rambling on about bestiaries that are written in English and can be read by normal American teenagers, thank you, or possibly classes on this subject where he could just learn it all. By the time Stiles starts thinking to himself about how he'd like Snape as a professor, because, hello, broody dark haired teachers are hot, he realizes he's still talking out loud.

"Oops. I mean back on topic. You don't need to know about my childhood crushes on fictional characters. So unicorns? We have a unicorn problem? Or was there another reason you're here?"

And Derek still hasn't said anything, probably because he can't get a word in edgewise, but there's a slight smile on his lips, as if he's found something Stiles said funny. Which, okay, it's not the first time he's made Derek laugh or smile, but usually it comes at the expense of Stiles doing something really stupid or flailing around into something or you know, something like that. So it's kind of nice to just see a smile over some words.

"No unicorns. I just came to check on you. You seemed a little out of it yesterday when I saw you, but your dad was home last night so I didn't want to come by."

"Check on me? You came to check on me?" Stiles is even more surprised. Noticing everything is one thing, but doing something about it is not what he expected from Derek.

"Yea, you're pack. I check on pack." Derek kind of grunts out. "If you're fine, I can leave."

"No, wait, I mean…" Stiles shouts, a little more needily than he meant to. "It's just, you've never checked on me before."

"You've never needed it." Derek kind of shrugs. "You're always in a good mood, or even scared to death, but still okay. You've always seemed okay."

"Oh, yea..." Stiles trails off, thinking about his habit of talking and talking and talking. Even though he finally admitted his crush on Derek to someone, it didn't mean that he wanted to like, bare his soul to the man either. He didn't even do that with Scott and Scott knew him better than pretty much anyone.

Suddenly serious, Derek asks, "Have you ever heard of The Purloined Letter? By Edgar Allan Poe?"

"No…?" And okay, Stiles, doesn't mean to sound so incredulous, but he (and usually Lydia) are the ones who know things. Not Derek. That's why Stiles is the research guy. He doesn't know everything, but he knows a lot of things. "What's it about?"

"I read it in high school," Derek continues. "There's a letter that gets stolen and the detective knows who stole it, but he can't find it. Finally, someone finds it and explains where it was. The thief hid it in plain sight and everyone who came to find it searched high and low, but they just overlooked it, thinking it was something else."

Stile is just kind of staring at him, mouth halfway open. He doesn't even have any thoughts racing around in his head, other than why the sudden change in topic.

"I know it's almost the anniversary of your mom's death."

At this point Stiles's freezes, unsure of where this conversation is going. Not even Scott usually remembers till the day of, and more often than not it's because his mom reminded him. Derek sits on the bed, legs pressed against his.

"I just mean, you talk. A lot. God you talk a lot, Stiles. But I don't think you ever really reveal anything important. I think you talk so that people think they know everything and never question further. They think you're an open book. Hell, I thought you were. I didn't figure the werewolf thing would ever stay secret once you found out, because you can't stop running your mouth. But nobody did. You're the purloined letter. You're hidden in plain sight. Nobody knows that they don't know you at all."

And Stiles can't move. Can't figure out what to do. Nobody has ever realized this about him. Nobody has ever looked past the constant stream of chatter emanating from his mouth to wonder if there were things he didn't talk about.

"Look…" Derek starts to trail off at this point, probably realizing this is the longest non-supernatural conversation they've had pretty much ever. "I just wanted to say, I know how it feels to not want people to realize how upset you still over something. Some people haven't lost someone close. They don't understand how that sticks with you and it doesn't always go away with time. And I know how it is to not want to reveal it or talk about it or let anyone know. Clearly you can't brood as well as I do so you can't go the mysterious route." Derek says with a chuckle and Stiles unfreezes to smile a bit.

"I just mean, you're pack. You're my pack. I know what it feels like, so if you ever need to talk, or if you need to not talk, or whatever. I'm here. I can listen. I can understand. I do understand. We're a lot alike. So if you need someone, I'm here."

And then Derek kisses him. It's a chaste press of lips to lips, but there's more comfort in it than Stiles expected. Derek moves as if to leave, but Stiles holds onto him just enough that Derek settles back down onto the bed. Derek places a kiss on Stiles's forehead in a move so tender it surprises even himself.

Stiles sighs, relieved. He doesn't have to bare his soul, but he can. He can if he wants. Because there is someone who probes under the surface of his constant chatter. He can share if he wants. But he can also sit here in silence, if he wants.

Stiles had never slept so well.


End file.
